


Yet Seemed It Winter Still

by solitaryjo



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitaryjo/pseuds/solitaryjo
Summary: What if?





	1. Chapter 1

“You wished to see me, sir?” 

“Ah, Lieutenant Hornblower. Come in.”

Captain Sir Edward Pellew was standing by the window of the _Indefatigable’s_ great cabin, watching the snow turn Portsmouth’s familiar grey seafront into a frosted confection that shimmered with golden light as the early morning sun broke through the clouds. His expression was stern when he turned around and for a moment Horatio had the horrible feeling he’d done something wrong.

“Why are you still here, Mr. Hornblower?” The question held a hint of exasperation but nothing more. “The Admiralty feels that you deserve to spend some time ashore after your exploits in Spain and yet you do not seem inclined to avail of their uncharacteristic generosity.”

“I thought I’d stay with the ship, sir,” Horatio replied, “I feel it is my duty to do so.”

Truth be told, what he really felt was an ongoing need to make amends for his part in what he regarded as a fairly disastrous series of events – the eventual escape may have been quite ingenious and entirely successful but it wouldn’t have been necessary in the first place if he hadn’t managed to lose his prize and get his men locked up in a Spanish prison for the best part of three months. 

“Besides,” he added trying to forestall any attempt to change his mind, “my father is visiting relatives in the North and I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

Pellew walked over to the large desk in the middle of the cabin and ran his hand thoughtfully over a pile of papers.

“On the contrary, Mr. Hornblower. I believe you have an invitation to visit a friend in London.”

“London, sir?” Horatio was genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know anybody in London …”

The only person he could think of who might be in the city was the Duchess of Wharfedale, to whom he had so rashly entrusted those dispatches when _Le Rêve_ had been captured by the Spanish. He’d been relieved to discover that the critical documents had reached their intended destination, but he doubted whether she would consider him a friend if she even remembered him at all.

His captain read the confusion in his face and hastened to provide an explanation.

“Do you remember a young midshipman by the name of Kennedy? You came aboard together, from the _Justinian_ if I recall correctly. He was involved in that regrettable incident with midshipmen Clayton and Simpson.”

Horatio felt his knees go weak as the names echoed through his mind like a broadside from a 74, punching a hole through his carefully constructed defences and letting in an ice cold flood that stole the breath from his lungs.

“Of course, sir. Mr. Kennedy was … lost … during the cutting out of the _Papillon._ ” 

His voice wavered. Lost. The word hardly seemed adequate to describe that awful moment when he’d realised there was nothing he could do to prevent the events unfolding before his eyes. How many times had he been over it in his head? How often had he berated himself for failing to say or do something that would have stopped Archie getting into that jolly boat? How many nights had he lain awake, torn between praying to a God he didn’t believe in and selling his very soul to the Devil if it would bring his friend back to him?

He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to banish the ghosts but Pellew’s next words made them open wide in disbelief.

“Apparently not quite as lost as we feared, Mr. Hornblower.”

“Sir?”

“I heard a rumour several weeks ago that Mr. Kennedy had survived and been taken prisoner and I recently received word that he had managed to escape – after several unsuccessful attempts I believe …” 

Horatio didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. He clutched at the edge of the desk, his legs buckling beneath him and his head reeling. He felt like grabbing Pellew by the lapels and shaking him.

 _And you didn’t think to tell me until now?_

Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. Of course Pellew didn’t recognise the significance of his words. They hadn’t been on the _Indy_ for very long at the time and a ship’s captain, even one as perceptive as Sir Edward, could hardly be expected to take note of every friendship formed among the men under his command.

Horatio found his mind overwhelmed with images and emotions that he had fought to suppress for almost two years. 

Archie, whose welcoming smile had been the one source of light in those first dark days. Archie, whose clear blue eyes had always been able to see right through him and chase away his fears, whose ability to survive in the face of unspeakable cruelty had given him the strength him to carry on when he felt like giving up. 

Archie, whose loss had heralded the start of an interminable winter in Horatio’s heart, whose absence had drained all the colour and light from the world, blotting out the sun and leaving nothing but cold and desolation and dull grey duty.

Archie?

Alive?

He didn’t realise he had spoken the words aloud until he felt the gentle pressure of a hand on his arm and looked up to meet Pellew’s concerned gaze. Perhaps the Captain did understand after all.

“My apologies, Mr. Hornblower. I did not mean to distress you. It was only hearsay at the time and I didn’t want to raise your hopes until it was confirmed and I could tell you what had become of him.” 

He held out a letter with what could only be described as an apologetic dip of his head.

“This arrived for you today. The accompanying note from Mr. Kennedy’s sister informs me that he is very much alive and is currently recuperating at her London residence in Soho Square. She asks that you be permitted to visit him and I would be happy to grant you the necessary leave, since we will no doubt be stuck here until the end of the month while the repairs are carried out.”

Horatio swallowed and managed to force out a “Thank you, sir” before Pellew dismissed him with an encouraging smile. 

“Merry Christmas Mr. Hornblower. Please give Mr. Kennedy my regards and let him know that he would be welcome to return to the _Indefatigable_ should he wish to do so.”

He turned back to the window and gave a deep sigh as the door closed behind Horatio. 

“It’s the least I can do.”

\-------

Sitting on the sea chest in his cabin off the wardroom, Horatio turned the letter over in his hands and frowned at the unfamiliar script. He’d expected to see his name in Archie’s writing, which he’d always regarded as a reflection of the man himself - neat and compact with the occasional flourish, as if he couldn’t resist adding a touch of theatricality to even the most straightforward navigational problem or the most tedious list. The fact that someone else had thought it necessary to write on Archie’s behalf puzzled and worried him.

He took a deep breath and broke the seal, his need to discover what lay inside overcoming his reservations about the letter’s provenance.

It was from Archie’s eldest sister, Margaret, the only member of the family he’d ever spoken of with any kind of affection. She didn’t go into much detail, but Horatio had listened with horror to tales told by other prisoners of war and he could not help imagining how Archie had suffered during his time in captivity. And yet his friend had never given up, trying again and again to escape even though the punishments would have been more severe after each attempt. 

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve to catch the tears that were falling on the paper and made himself read to the end. Margaret’s invitation was worded politely but there was a sense of urgency about it that could not be denied.

\-------

As Horatio stepped from the jolly boat to the dock, he slipped and lost his footing on the icy stone. He gasped as the shock of the impact unleashed another wave of memories, catapulting him back to the last time he’d seen Portsmouth in the snow.

He remembered the fear that had gripped his heart when he’d come to his senses on the _Justinian_ and realised what Clayton had done. The panic that had risen in his chest at thought of Archie out there in the cold, facing the man who took such pleasure in tormenting and abusing him. The guilty relief he’d felt when he reached the inn and found Clayton at death’s door and Archie unharmed. 

The way Archie’s spark had returned when they joined the _Indy_ and the pain of seeing that light extinguished once again after Simpson had emerged from the wreck of the _Justinian_ to haunt his dreams and blight his waking hours.

\-------

It was getting late by the time the carriage arrived in London and made its way slowly though streets thronged with rosy-cheeked crowds, laughing and singing and exchanging season’s greetings.

The air was filled with the sounds of celebration, snatches of conversation and music reaching Horatio’s ears as doors opened to admit the revellers to the residences around the square. 

All except one. 

His sense of foreboding grew stronger as he approached the silent house. He could scarcely bring himself to knock on the door and the sight that greeted him when it was opened left him speechless for a moment before he remembered his manners and removed his hat with a small bow.

“Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower of His Britannic Majesty’s ship _Indefatigable,_ at your service madam.”

He knew he was staring but he couldn’t help himself – apart from the ringlets of dark hair framing her pale face, she was the image of Archie. The same bright blue eyes, unsuited to the melancholy reflected there in the candle light. The same little turned-up nose under a faint layer of powder that was doing nothing to conceal the redness at its tip. The same perfectly formed lips, quivering with barely suppressed emotion.

He barely had a chance to wonder why she’d greeted him herself rather than waiting for him to be shown in properly when she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hall, steering him towards a door at the far end with a torrent of words so fast he could only understand what she was saying because he had grown used to similar onslaughts from Archie.

“Oh thank goodness you are here. I am sorry for imposing on you at this time of year but I didn’t know what else to do. The doctor says it may do him some good to be reminded of better times and he always spoke so fondly of you in his letters …” 

She stopped outside the door and pushed it open to reveal a small study, illuminated only by the flickering light of the fire in the hearth. 

There was a high-backed chair pulled up close to the fireplace and all Horatio could see of its occupant was a pair of bare feet, blue with cold in spite of their proximity to the flames. 

Margaret looked up at him with eyes full of tears and a helpless shake of her head.

“He just sits there all day. Barely says a word. I swear he only eats because he knows it would kill mother to mourn him a second time.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if she was imparting the most terrible news she could imagine.

“He doesn’t even want to read.” 

Horatio approached the chair tentatively, his voice shaking as he instinctively reached out a hand towards the hunched figure.

“Archie?”

“Go away.”

“Archie!” Margaret admonished gently. “Please. Lieutenant Hornblower has come all this way to see you.”

Archie leant forward and turned his head to regard his visitor with a cool, unflinching gaze.

“Very well.” His lips twisted in a cruel parody of the smile that Horatio remembered. “Far be it from me to disappoint _Lieutenant_ Hornblower. See me he shall.”

He got to his feet and untied the belt from around his robe, letting it fall to reveal a body ravaged by hunger and pain. Ribs clearly visible through skin as translucent as the finest tissue, mottled with fading bruises and scored with the marks of countless beatings and worse. 

Margaret gave a strangled sob and retreated into the hallway but Horatio could not tear his eyes away. He watched as Archie held out his arms and slowly turned full circle, every newly revealed scar sending a pang of guilt and shame through his own trembling limbs and the cold emptiness in those once-sparkling blue eyes piercing his heart like a dagger.

Archie gave a bitter laugh at Horatio’s horrified expression as he bent to retrieve the robe and pulled it around his shoulders.

“You’ve seen what you came for. Now leave me alone.”


	2. Chapter 2

Horatio pulled the door closed behind him and glared at Margaret. He knew it was unfair but he could not keep the anger out of his voice.

“Why did you not tell me?”

She lowered her eyes, unable to meet his accusing gaze.

“I thought visitors might do him good so I told some of his friends from the theatre what had happened. They said they might come when he’s feeling better but I could tell they didn’t want to see him looking like that. Forgive me, I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew what to expect.” 

Horatio sighed.

"I apologise. I am a stranger to you and you had no reason to trust me. I would have come no matter what but it makes no difference now. He doesn’t want me here. I’m just making it worse. It’s all my fault and he has every right to hate me for it.”

He shook his head and started towards the door.

“I should go.”

But Margaret placed a hand gently on his arm.

“At least you got him to speak. That’s more than anyone else has been able to do. I don't know why you think it is your fault but I don’t believe you would intentionally do anything to harm him. You’re a kind man, I can see it in your eyes. And I can tell you care for him. Please, stay here for the night. Perhaps you can try again in the morning, when he’s had time to grow accustomed to your presence.” 

Horatio began to protest but she was insistent and he found he could no more resist her earnest plea than he could have said no to Archie himself.

\-------

Too exhausted to bother removing more than his jacket and waistcoat, Horatio lay back on the bed in the room that had been made up for him. He couldn’t get Margaret’s words out of his head.

_I don’t believe you would intentionally do anything to harm him._

He'd always told himself that he'd acted as he did that night to protect Archie and the rest of the men, but the more he thought about it, the more he was troubled by the possibility that there was another explanation. That some part of him had actually wanted events to unfold the way they did. He and Archie had become increasingly close after they joined the _Indy_ and on occasion he'd found himself looking at his friend with more fondness than was proper and it had disconcerted and frightened him. Had he unconsciously been trying to separate himself from Archie so he wouldn't have to face up to his burgeoning feelings?

_You’re a kind man._

Would a kind man sacrifice someone he claimed to care about just because he couldn't control his own emotions? Would a kind man be willing to give up on a friend because he was scared of what people might think of him? How could he ever expect Archie to trust him again if he didn’t even trust himself?

He eventually managed to drift into a fitful sleep and had no idea how much time had passed when he was woken by a crash and an anguished cry from outside the room. 

He leapt out of bed and ran out into the hall to find Margaret standing beside an open door in her dressing gown and night cap, one hand pressed to her heaving chest. His first thought was that Archie had taken a turn for the worse or that he'd had a fit and hurt himself, but if that was the case would she not have rushed to her brother’s side?

He took the lantern from her shaking hand and peered into the room, glancing down in confusion as he stepped over the shards of pottery that littered the floor around her feet.

“What is it? What has happened?”

"He's gone."

Her voice was so quiet he wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“I came up to bring him a hot water bottle – he gets terribly cold at night, you see – but he’s not in his room. Where is he, Mr. Hornblower? Where is my brother?”

Fighting back the panic that was rising in his chest, Horatio followed her down the staircase. When he got to the bottom, she was already running along the hall, flinging open doors as she went, but every room was as empty as the last.

On reaching the far end, they both turned and looked back towards the front door, exclaiming simultaneously,

“He wouldn’t ...”

"He can't have..."

\-------

It had stopped snowing and the covering of fresh powder glistened in the silver light of the moon, reflecting it so brightly that Horatio almost failed to notice the footprints leading across the street towards the private gardens.

Margaret gasped, "Oh God! Do something Mr. Hornblower! He'll freeze to death out there!"

Horatio nodded, managing to get the fear under control now he had a task to focus on.

“Right. Stay here. Fetch blankets and get a fire going. I'll find him."

He stepped out into the night air, shivering as the biting wind raised goosebumps on his skin through the thin material of his shirt and repeating "I'll find him" over and over as if saying it enough times could make it happen.

The gardens were surrounded by iron railings, but one of the gates had been left open and it was in that direction the trail led and Horatio followed.

He found Archie, barefoot and clad only in a nightshirt, standing next to the old fountain in the centre of the open space, his outstretched hand resting on a icicle emerging from the mouth of an ugly stone fish. He was absolutely still and so very pale – if it wasn’t for the puffs of breath visible in the freezing air he could have been as much a part of the stonework as the weatherbeaten statue that stood at the centre of the basin.

Fighting an overwhelming urge to grab him and march him back to the house, Horatio attempted to keep his voice calm, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for the two of them to be standing outside in their underclothes in the dead of winter. 

“Alright are you, Archie? What brings you out on a night like this?"

Archie didn't even seem to notice he was there.

"Archie? For God’s sake!”

When there was still no response, he resorted to the only thing he knew that might get through to his former shipmate.

“Mr. Kennedy!” 

Archie blinked and looked around as if he had no idea where he was or how he had come to be there. He gave a violent shudder and murmured, “I’m so very cold, Horatio,” before his legs buckled and he slumped towards the frozen water.

Horatio lunged forward, breaking his fall and scooping him up into his arms. 

His heart was in his mouth as he carried the limp form back over the street, resisting the temptation to hurry in case he slipped on the ice and dropped his precious cargo.

Margaret ushered him into parlour and he carefully laid Archie on the sofa, wrapping him in the blankets that had been warming in front of the fire and rubbing his hands and feet to try and stop the shivering. He didn't expect an answer but he couldn't help asking, 

“Why did you do this Archie?” 

\-------

Archie suddenly moaned and sat bolt upright, a look of sheer terror contorting his features, and Horatio felt a sharp pang of guilt. The nightmares had been bad enough before - God only knew how much worse they'd be after the horrors of the last two years.

He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and eased him back down onto the sofa.

“Shhh, Archie. It’s alright. You’re safe now.” 

"Simpson..."

Archie's eyes darted from side to side as if he half expected the ghost of his tormentor to emerge from the shadows.

“Simpson's dead, Archie."

“How?”

“I – he shot me on the _Papillon._ There was a duel. He was killed.”

It was a gross simplification of what had actually happened, but he didn't want to say any more about those dark days than he had to.

"Oh. Better late than never, I suppose.”

That was not the reaction Horatio was anticipating.

“Don't you understand, Archie? He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. And Captain Pellew says you can rejoin the ship whenever you are ready.”

“What on earth makes you think I’d want to do that?”

Horatio was taken aback. He'd expected the news to cheer Archie up, or at least give him a reason to look to the future with hope.

“Don’t you want to get back? Stand on the deck of the _Indy?_ Hear the wind in the rigging?”

“And hear how I'm only there because Horatio Hornblower persuaded the Captain to give me a second chance?”

“It wouldn’t be like that.”

“It would be just like that. I'd never be able to escape it long as I was serving on the same ship as you and I doubt even Sir Edward with all his connections could find another captain willing to take on such a burden. I’d be obliged if you could convey my resignation to the Admiralty when you leave.” 

“No. I won’t let you do that. This is my fault and if anyone is going to resign it should be me.”

Archie shook his head with a sad smile. 

“You still don’t understand, do you?

“When I was six, my mother gave me a model ship made entirely of glass. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Father was not pleased of course. Oh, he let me keep it for her sake but he put it on the highest shelf in my room. Out of reach. Told me I was a clumsy child and could not be trusted with such precious things.

“I used to sit and stare at it for hours until one day I couldn’t stand it anymore. I climbed up on a chair and lifted it down from its cradle. I was ever so careful, but you can guess what happened next of course. I was so worried about damaging it that my useless body decided it would be a good time to betray me. I could feel it happening but there was no time to do anything about it. When I came round, the ship was in a thousand pieces on the floor. I tried to put it back together but it was no use. Father was right: I ruin everything I touch, I don’t deserve beautiful things.”

He reached out and brushed a finger across Horatio’s cheek.

“You’re better off without me.” 

Taking his friend’s silence as a sign that he didn't disagree, he turned his back and pulled the blanket up to hide his face.

Horatio shook his head, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He wanted to tell Archie how miserable he’d been without him. How nothing had been the same. How his plans and dreams for the future had lost all their lustre when he couldn't share them with his best and only friend. But he had no idea what to say. How could he make Archie understand that he deserved the very best? How could he convince him that he was needed? That he was loved?

He got up and walked over to the window, staring out at the snow that had started to fall again, and found that the words he had been searching for were right in front of him.

“How like a winter hath my absence been  
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!  
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!  
What old December's bareness everywhere!”

A muffled choking sound came from the sofa and Archie pushed the blanket away and sat up, staring at him in disbelief.

“Horatio? Did you just ...?”

Horatio felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he walked back over and sat on the edge of the sofa but he was determined not to let this chance pass him by. Even if Archie laughed at him for his foolish notions, at least that would be something.

“I’m sorry. I feared my own words would not suffice. I read the books you left behind so many times and it must have stuck in my head. I suppose I found it strange that someone writing so long ago could have understood exactly what I was feeling."

Archie was looking at him with a hint of amusement but there was a serious question in the depths of those blue eyes.

"And now?"

Horatio knew there was only one answer he could give. He took Archie's hand in his own and raised it to his lips.

"Now, Archie, I'm rather hoping you understand as well."

The smile that lit up Archie's face was more than he could have hoped for, and although it was Christmas, Horatio knew the long winter was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore major plot holes, it's just a silly Christmas fic

**Author's Note:**

> From you have I been absent in the spring,  
> When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim,  
> Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,  
> That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.  
> Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell  
> Of different flowers in odour and in hue,  
> Could make me any summer's story tell,  
> Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:  
> Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,  
> Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;  
> They were but sweet, but figures of delight,  
> Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.  
>      Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,  
>      As with your shadow I with these did play.
> 
> (Sonnet 98 by William Shakespeare)


End file.
